Listen Closely, This isn't Easy
by driter
Summary: Wanting your stepbrother's not as easy as it looks.' One Shot. Dasey. Duh.


**Wow, I literally can't stop writing anymore. Oh, wellz, might as well take advantage of the free time while it lasts. Hope you guys enjoy this little diddy. It just sort of came to me.**

--

Wanting your stepbrother's not as easy as it looks.

You have to be a bitch—constantly. Whine and yell and flip out over everything to cover your tracks.

But, then you have to be sweet and sticky, like honey, to really grip his attention, make his smirk warm, make his eyes hesitate and linger on you a moment longer than you both know they should, before you spaz suddenly and dramatically again.

--

"You're such a drama queen," he says, sounding annoyed. But he's been popping up around you constantly and you know he's trying to appease you.

"You completely humiliated me."

"I locked the car door a few times so you couldn't get in in front of the baseball players; big whoop."

"I hate it when you do that," you whine; and you want to roll his eyes at you for him, because you know you're being so bratty.

"You hate it when I do everything."

You hear his feet padding on your carpet and he comes behind you, resting a pint of cookie dough ice cream on your desk. "Why don't you eat this, watch a chick flick and drink some midol flavored water or whatever, 'kay?"

The grocery store's closed and you know he had to go out of his way to get it for you. And maybe he _wants _you to know, but you can't tell.

"Whatever."

You turn to him and he reaches behind your ear and does some lame magic trick Edwin showed him, pulling out a spoon.

"Abracadabra."

He hands it to you and your stomach flips. You have no idea how he makes stupid things so hot.

--

When you're driving together in a car all the time, which can be oddly intimate—arguing over stations, yelling at intersections, reaching over him and around him for whatever he's looking for so you both won't die in a viscous accident—you can't let it go to your head.

And, you can't stare at him too long under your eyelashes, because sometimes he'll catch you.

--

You leave the car in the morning and you tell him that Noel's driving you home--not him--and he tenses. "Idiot."

"Excuse me? 'cause I'm not the one in remedial English."

"Not you. Him."

This conversation doesn't make any sense to you, so you leave it—and him—in the parking lot.

--

Boyfriends are tricky.

They're cute and if you're lucky they'll kiss decently. But they never match up, because Derek _always wins_.

And, sometimes, when he's watching you with them, your eyes meet, and you watch him, too. Which is wrong. And, probably a mistake.

--

"Thanks for the ride, Derek," Noel says awkwardly from the back seat, "The station wagon broke down again. We call it Old Yeller, its time's always looming, ya know?"

"I don't like you and I don't care. 'Ya know'?" Derek snaps, glowering at him through the rearview mirror.

"Der-reck," you say and you wonder if he realizes how half-hearted it is, because you love it when he fights with your dates.

"Idiot," he mutters again and his face is shadowed and turned away from you.

But, he whispers to you anyway. "Why couldn't you just call Nora? Or my dad?"

"Um, humiliating much?"

"Like you need any help humiliating yourself."

"Someone's cranky. What? Did I interrupt GropeFest '08?"

He smirks. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Yes. You would.

"Like I care."

You're both sort of pretending Noel doesn't exist—again—and you're taking turns missing each other's stares. But you know its happening.

"You get yourself in these situations with these stupid guys and then-"

"Derek, stop it."

You're trying to calm him down and then your hand's on his thigh and you have no idea why, especially right in front of Noel. You both glance to the backseat, but your date's daydreaming, looking blankly out the window. So you don't move it.

That's probably a mistake, too.

--

When you're hurting, he'll take care of you. But don't tell anyone—including him--' cause they might catch on.

--

"One second, Marti," you hear him murmur in your doorway. There's more whispering and giggles and then you hear her stomping down the hallway. Your door creaks open.

"Hey, Space Case," he says softly.

"Go away."

You don't want him to and he doesn't.

"Is this about that bad play review?"

You don't answer him and you _really_ want him closer to you and he comes.

His fingers brush your shoulder, like he's trying to tickle you or something, before they smooth down and he starts a sort of tentative, whispering massage. "You totally not-sucked. It was your co-star, he's a loser. And, the lighting was off. I mean you were lame and corny, but you were good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

--

Eye sex is fun.

Neither of you will admit it afterwards.

--

"You look so ridiculous," he says to you, stalking in your doorway.

You face him, but not until letting your knee swing up to your chin, showing him how flexible you are, and smirking.

"Funny coming from a guy with a popped collar."

"It's in," he says to you lowly, walking towards you.

He doesn't ever respect your space anymore and you never wanted him to. But, you shove lightly into his chest and turn from him, moving towards the boom box. You want him to follow you and he doesn't let you down.

"You're such a dork."

He's just saying things now.

"Ass."

You're just saying things, too.

But, you have to keep talking—and you do, sharing meaningless empty, insults—because if you stop, then you're just two people staring at each other in a bedroom and standing so close your bodies are almost touching.

And, that's just not okay.

--

If you're going to kiss him, it has to be hard, not soft. With tongue, not just lips. And you might want to slap him afterwards, like you really didn't want it. Which you so did.

--

"I'm walking home with Noel."

"No," he says, jumping from his hood and scowling at you.

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'no.' I'm your ride and you're coming with me."

"Are you ordering me?"

"Yes."

You glare at him and he sees your escape before you do, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back to his side. "You think he'll make it better for you than I will?"

No. Duh.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he grumbles, freeing you.

He glowers and gets into the car, slamming the door shut. When you get in after him, he's surprised. Then he's under you as you kiss him. Hard. With tongue and a little meanly.

He likes that. And, he grasps your waist, frenching you, while his other hand strikes a switch, and the chair cries and falls back.

--

If you must date him—which you must—then, and only then, may you kiss him softly, sweetly. But, he has to start it first.

--

"Let's not do that 'other people' thing, 'kay?" he says to you on floor of your bedroom, where you're cuddling—not that he'll admit that.

Okay.

So maybe you can kiss him sweetly first. Just this once.

--


End file.
